With the burning of a distant village as the signal, the Purifiers have begun to march from their fortifications to renew their assault on Narfell. Their agents have begun popping up again, as their leadership makes it clear that the peaceful times are over. The war has started anew, and this time the only way to stop it will be to either destroy the Purifiers nefarious leaders, or fall victim to their purifying flames. (I'll be aiming to finish this up after Christmas with a couple of events, as well as the usual Purifier random spawns)

Upon seeing the inhabitants of the former "Fish Camp" scatter and not return since, Brumir comments among his kinsmen with a grin. "Guess 'em farks learned thar lesson. Very few things ye cinnay solve wit powderkegs! HAR HAR HAR!"

Shiney meets the defender outside the fort in a solemn mood. “We’re saddened teh hear o’ King George Fisher’s passin’ and send our condolences teh his kith and kin. He was o’ good man who righted his wrong and proved himself an Peltarch as honorable. He reforged the bond between his folk and ours and we’re lookin’ forward teh pledgin’ our kin to his in alliance once more. We dwarves o’ Aura Runedar will observe this Day o’ Mournin’ and remember the wisdom o’ Peltarch’s King and his sacrifices fer the good o’ his people. We thank ye fer the final delivery and offer ye shelter an munitions while ye prepare teh travel North again.”

A new strange occurrence has occurred in this string of odd occurrences. A tall bard with black bandages, inscribed with red runes, has appeared in various places across Narfell at varying times. The fast pace in which he appears, and the fact that some stories of his appearance seem to match up to identical times, indicate not everything is normal with this bard. When he appears, he speaks in a booming voice increased by magic. "PEOPLE OF THE LAND. I BRING YOU GREAT NEWS. SUFFER NOT IN POVERTY OR IN UNEMPLOYMENT. SQUANDER NOT YOUR PAY GAMBLING IN THE DOCKS, NOR YOUR FUNCTIONAL AND VALUABLE LIVER TO ALCOHOLISM. TO THOSE WHO SEEK PURPOSE AND PEACE, THE CULT OF DARIUS OFFERS SUCH THINGS TO YOU. JOIN US BROTHERS AND SISTERS. JOIN US." Strangely the few people who don't take kindly to incredibly loud weird cult speakers and try to get close to him discover that he has a habit of vanishing without a trace when approached... but his damn speech will always linger to completion.

The ale flowed and the competition was fierce! After much straining and many failed attempts by all, it was Korak that proved his strength above the others and lifted the great anvil above his head. Korak Anvil-Heaver is the new Anvil Lifting Champion of Aura Runedar! After a dozen ales and twice as many dart throws from each contestant, the crude paintings of the white dragon on the archery targets were barely visible under the barrage of darts, though it was the Brewmaster Labur Strin that faired best and took the glory and prize. Then Legan fought many dwarves to defend his wrestling championship until the final round when the Brewmaster Labur shocked the contestants by pulling a close win to claim the title and glory of Aura Runedar’s Wrestling Champion and the belt to prove it! Once thirty mugs of ale were lined up before each dwarf, the real contest began. Brumir was out before the first ten mugs were emptied, his egg addiction turning his tolerance for alcohol to that of an elf, followed by Legan and Korak. Soon it came down between Alaghor Thorin and Brewmaster Labur. Ale was chugged and mugs were slammed until even the Brewmaster himself fell drunken before the swaying Clan Warden and new Drinking Champion of Aura Runedar, Thorin Goldenaxe! May his trophy mug toast many victories to come!

In the darkened tunnels outside the city of Arnath, a battle was waged. The remnants of it lie strewn between stalagmites. The bodies of strange half man, half scorpion-like creatures lay in a knot. In amongst them, a lone quaggoth who had fought at their side. The floor of the cavern is covered with the stench of vomited acid, blood, and thick carapaces dented, cut and torn by surface dwellers weapons. In this spot lies a stone. It is palm sized, with a symbol of the Uthgardt Tribe of the Great Worm on one side, and "Rika" carved in Trade Speech on the other.

The machine is easily retrieved, though it remains inert for the time being. It appears nigh on impervious to attempts to open it up, or even so much as dent it, seeming for all practical purposes a solid metal statue. If some of the dwarves examining it had not seen it move with their own eyes, they would not have believed it physically possible. Occasionally in the night when the thing is not under direct examination, some of the guards report sparks or verrrry low pitched humming whirrs coming from the thing, though closer examination invariably results in it being found to be as silent and still as when it was pulled from the waters.

Ylva snorts and bumps Master Z with her hip. "Yer a dwarf to me"

General Theaon can be heard instructing Legion troops between drills emulating invasions from the air "We're going to have to do better than that. If a hostile force ever tried to invade from across the Scar, they aren't starting off by taking the ferry across! They'll be coming from the air to soften up our defenses. Any aerial hostiles we don't take out will cost lives and destroy artillery. Now let's get started again. This time I want faster reloads and better accuracy!" After he finishes speaking, the drills continue on.

Bronn Razenk offers a hand, expecting (hopefully) generous compensation in the end